


It's In The Music

by ketchupfromyoutube



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Daddy Michael, Dom Michael, F/M, Michael Clifford - Freeform, Top Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketchupfromyoutube/pseuds/ketchupfromyoutube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just wish…there was some way…” Michael talks with his chin on your hair, the movement feeling like a pat on the head. His hands snake down to the top of your ass, your eyes open. </p>
<p>"I could prove that I may be younger but I can fuck my baby girl like she’s been bad. Been misbehaving.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Michael is 20, you're 25, and he is your Daddy).</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's In The Music

“Do you remember?” The purple headed boy sang into the microphone with no air of insecurity. His muscle tank displayed the logo for Jack Daniels and his spiked up locks were ribboned with a makeshift hair accessory. Looking closer you could see it was his classmate’s tie.   
"The 21st night of September?" The maybe-twenty-year-old sang on with impressive strength in his gritty voice. You could tell he had musical experience with his on point tempo and ability to stay in pocket.  
He was cute. Massive doe-like eyes framed by thick eyebrows and lips puffy and pink. His thighs flexed noticeably in his black skinny jeans under the dusty spotlight, legs bracing the floor dramatically to strike a pose. His high note was for comedy, the way he scrunched his nose and pointed his fingers to the ceiling. But as you wiped the bar down, your tips in the waistband of your black skirt, you caught the raw power in this kid’s pipes.   
    “Not bad, ey?” Jess, your fellow bartender winked at you and bit her lip as she returned to watching purple boy. You can’t help but roll your eyes at how shameless your friend is.   
"Good. But young. Jess…we were learning to ride our bikes when he was born," you tell her, laying a fresh rag to rest on your shoulder while collecting empty glasses.   
    “Oh please, what’s five years matter when I can tell this guy could fuck like an animal…” Jess drawled in her southern accent, fingers twirling her blonde hair.   
"Like a real man…"  
"Jess!" You scolded, face revealing just how scandalized you felt. The fraternity guys at the end of the bar overheard of fucking course, casting you two cocky looks.   
    As Jess giggled indulgently, you tilted your head to the boys and just shook your head no.   
"Been there, done that…" You whispered to yourself after they got up to go bother freshman girls.   
"My thoughts are with you," Jack Daniels (that’s what you decided to call him), was now bouncing along the stage in a Jagger-esque energy. Girls were throwing their hands into the air excitedly, whispering to their friends with flushed cheeks and mischievous eyes. You smirked and took note of how closely the end of your shift was approaching.   
    Daniels was finished and sweaty after his performance, walking to the counter you were cleaning again, looking thirsty. Those ultra pink lips parted for more air. And when he looked up at you and stopped walking for a moment, you didn’t exactly look away. You did encourage him to come closer because a customer was a customer and tips were tips. If he couldn’t drink, and by the looks of it that was likely, he could get a coke or something. Your rent was due soon and your car wasn’t getting any newer.   
    “Come on Mick Jagger, show me your I.D. and we can get you fixed right up,” You smiled, fingers drawing him in, hooking the air between you two.  
    Something nervous and unsure flashed across purple boy’s face, but it was so brief and so utterly replaced by a confident grin that it slipped from your mind like shower water. God you wanted a shower. Just seeing the perverted and absolutely amateur stares of all the college boys left a sticky residue on your skin. Or maybe that was the tequila on the wood.   
    “Mick Jagger?” the boy’s accent craned you out of your self pity like an arcade game you never won as a kid. His voice was so deep, throaty. Speaking to you now you detected the Australian lilt. Looking up you saw his cheeks form a wide smile, teeth white and quite beautiful. This boy with purple hair looked so young but had a talking voice that had you standing as still as Jess next to you.   
    “Yeah, I saw your moves on that stage, and my father raised me on The Stones so…I know a proper Jagger gait when I see one. Now come on, I.D.” You said with a flick of your wrist and a snap of your fingers. Nails painted black. Jagger just looked so overjoyed listening to every word you said. What was with this kid?   
    “Okay, yeah, okay,” He said and slid his fingers into his back pocket, pulling out a card and handing it over. You smiled at him, being cordial but not more polite than needed, and looked down.   
    “Robert Bonfante?” You inquired, voice flat as you looked back at him.   
    “Mmhmm,” the boy nodded with his hands tucked behind his back, looking like a child who’d just scribbled crayon all over the walls.   
"Mmm…okay," you popped your lips and peered to the I.D. once again.   
"Says here you’re twenty five, from Wyoming, organ donor,"  
"I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I’ve just always been this charitable," the kid held his chest with one hand, hip with the other. His eyes were spilling out everything you needed to know. He was full of shit.   
Rolling your eyes and taking a deep breath, you handed him back the I.D.   
"Look, Mr. Bonfante, I’m going to go easy on you and not take that fake ass I.D. and cut it in half,” you started.  
The boy blinked and his smile dropped instantly.  
"There is no way in hell that you’re a year older than me. I was wearing shirts with alcohol companies on them when I was nineteen too," and the look on his face is confusing because you can’t read it. You could always tell what freshman college boys were thinking. But his crooked grin and the glowing glint in his eyes sure didn’t say “disappointed”; you didn’t know what it said.   
And that got your attention. For real, this time.   
    “Well, thank you, Miss…” Jagger held up his hand expectantly, clearly wanting your name. The puzzle around this boy was the uncharacteristic push to get you to tell.   
"Eliza…" you confessed, tone sounding the confusion you felt as to why you were telling this stranger your name. Jess just looked the boy’s body up and down appreciatively, nudging you like the little shit she was. You loved her.   
"And I’m Michael, Clifford. Which…I mean, it’s better than Robert Bonfante, am I right?" he chuckled and scratched at the tie around his head, arm muscles flexed.   
    “Get outta here, Clifford, before I call security,” you shook your head but all be damned if you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your burgundy painted lips.   
With a goodbye tap to the bar top and a not so subtle wink, Michael left with his classmate calling after him for his tie back. Jess was whistling low to herself and mumbling explicit things. You were tonguing at your cheek and just thinking…  
Why did he make you feel hot?

***  
      
Michael kept coming back to the bar after that. Never tried to get a drink, just sang. He was killer at Aerosmith, a star with Heart, and made you laugh so hard one night you almost fell over with a cover of “Toxic” by Britney. You used to hate your job but since Michael came to sing, you didn’t. It seemed simple until you could no longer deny how you felt.   
    When Michael shared his sandwiches with you during your breaks and became Mikey to you, it was a crush. A small crush that you and Jess had tried to rationalize as a mere fantasy. Something to daydream about but never act on. You were twenty four and Michael was nineteen. Not illegal but definitely new territory for you.   
    “You’re fucking gorgeous,” Michael whispered to you as you wiped down the bar one slow night. Business dismal. Your head whipped up so fast you felt a twinge in your neck.  
"Ah, shit," you groaned at your stupidity. Mikey sat up straighter and the next thing you knew, his hands were massaging the hurt muscle. They were so strong, fingers calloused. His nails ghosting across the nape of your neck. The hairs stood on end as you peeked up at him. "Michael…" you said softly, cautious.   
    “You hurt yourself, Ellie…” Mikey breathed, leaned forward. The bar was empty save for you two. The flickering bulb you never got around to fixing finally petering the fuck out. Michael’s breathing was as uneven as yours. Dark, it was so fucking dark and the the right strap of your cami fell to your bicep. You could just make out Michael’s nearing outline.   
    A kiss from any other boy or grown man wouldn’t make your knees buckle. Or your temples tingle. Your chest snatch your ribcage up into your lungs. Not with the way this boy was built. This young man. Michael’s guitar worked fingertips drew a path through your hair, sloping up and undoing the ponytail completely. He actually crawled over the bar top and you would tease if your thighs weren’t clenched so hard. So heated.   
    Heavy breathing was the reminder of what this boy did to you that you’d never quite felt with anyone else. His tongue was orchestrating tastes and swirls of desire you didn’t know could be felt or experienced. You met Michael the young man, a striped tie around his bright plum hair and adorably flaring nostrils…but now you were being felt up by Michael fucking Clifford who knew exactly what he was doing.   
    “I think I need you, like…as more than a friend,” and Mikey’s words could be taken from a high school campus but his massive hands surging into your skirt and gripping the thickest part of your upper thighs rang loud in your ears.   
I’m a fucking man.  
    And you couldn’t take a breath without murmuring “Yes, fucking yes Michael,” and let him take you home.   
He fucked you first against the fridge in his dodgy apartment, roommate gone. Again into the mattress so powerfully the room spun like the vinyl he had playing.   
His cock was the largest you’d taken and belonged to the first boy you’d ever call “Daddy.” He was stronger than you ever thought and had a roughness that made you wake the neighbors.   
    And fuck if it wasn’t so damn incredible that with every swish of your skirt you remembered his whispers and loud orders of “Say my name.”  
    Because fuck, with each slide of your thighs and rub of the cotton against your nipples you heard Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” drift in and out of the reality that was you and Michael.   
And that’s how you two got together.  
   
***

A year later and Michael was a sophomore in college, riding his studies hard and letting you in on all of his little bits and pieces. He was gentle. Loved watching movies with candles lit and popcorn on your laps. Dog-earing paper back books and buying you your favorite shampoo. You knew about the car crash he got into when he was thirteen and his fear of heights. He knew about your parent’s bad split and your fear of missing out. You were both gentle and in love.  
    But when the plushness of your lips were close enough and his fingertips were bristled against your skin in the right way, you fucked as if it was your last day.  
And that’s how things got to be sort of perfect, really. You and Mikey. 20 and 25 and it worked. It always fucking worked. 

***  
      
The thing about, well, things is that they aren’t perfect. That’s it. So when Michael would blush and scoff irritably at your joke about the age difference it took you by surprise. So it was a sore spot for Michael. Okay.  
"Baby, I was only joking, you know that right?" You asked gently as you wrapped your arms around him on the couch.   
"Five years is really nothing, I just remember when I met you. All fresh to college and bright eyed…I didn’t mean anything insulting-"  
"Just, save it okay Ellie? Look…" Michael sighed and sat up and out of your hold. You felt an ice cold chill sprint up your spine. You never fought. Well, okay, you did…but arguing over which kind of mustard to buy wasn’t exactly a real discord.   
Your eyes worried all over him, darting with every move he made. He got up and started toward your shared bedroom. “I’m tired of it, okay?”  
"Of what?" You asked, frustrated with such a vague statement.   
"Of hearing about how you’re older than me!" Michael snapped, waving his arms into the air, a copy of "The Sound and the Fury" in his hands.   
"I hear it from my friends, your friends, my fucking cousins, and you…I don’t need to hear about it from you," he looks so fed up.  
"Do they say bad things about us? I…." you trail off, this is not at all what you wanted to happen. It was a joke!  
"No…no they just tell me how lucky I am to have locked such a hot lady down and yeah. Fuck yeah…but babe…I am so tired of feeling like I am some lost puppy in your hands."  
And….wow. Fuck…wow. You fish mouth for a moment and let that sting. Let it sting nice and harsh.   
"Fucking…that’s what you think?" you rounded on him, angry now. Michael took a breath and shook his head. "No, Elle…"  
"No! Michael, tell me…is your ego that important that me being older is that hurtful? Don’t act like a child then."   
The novel is dropped onto the coffee table with a thump and Michael licks his lips. He’s mad too. Takes slow steps that make the floor squeak and is right before you in no time.   
"My ego is fine, I’m sorry okay? I just…" he furrows his brows and places careful hands to your hips.   
Your heart hurts. “I’m so sorry…I…I shouldn’t have said those things…” you whispered and walked your fingers up his broad back. He shakes his head and tucks his head down, eyes closed.   
"It’s okay Ellie girl…I know I snapped…" he soothes you, so much taller and somehow curling around you. You let a fast, shaky breath go and softly head butt his chest, staying there. Just recovering from that short but sharp blow up.   
    “Just wish…there was some way…” Michael talks with his chin on your hair, the movement feeling like a pat on the head. His hands snake down to the top of your ass, your eyes open.   
"I could prove that I may be younger but I can fuck my baby girl like she’s been bad. Been misbehaving.”  
Which, okay. A 180 change for the ages, you two as the nominees. Your stomach swooped to your toes and your legs felt as if they were turned to “vibrate.” That’s what this man did to you.   
    Michael’s voice is a raspy growl, the last word punctuated by his hands claiming your ass in a tight grasp. Deliberate and predatory. His eyes lock with yours as he shakes each cheek slow. A wolf and his lamb. Playing with his prey before sinking his sharp teeth deep. Deep… A tilt of his head and bite of his lip. “Huh? Maybe if everyone hears the way you squeak and scream your daddy’s name,” his fingers spread you apart and lift.   
Okay.  
    “They would shut their fucking faces.” His jeans rub against yours, fronts each molding to the other. You’re staring up at him with glassy eyes and words dissolved on your tongue. Can’t think much further than what your body is yelling at you. You need that, need it so fucking bad.   
    “Right sweetheart?” Michael cooed before pressing a hot kiss to your forehead, speaking into it. You blurt out a wet reply, lips sticking from how much you licked them. Combined with the gloss. “Mmyeah..”  
"Daddy’s going to give you his cock so hard tonight, angel. Is that what you want?" He asked so gently you felt like you were floating. One moment there was a fight and now…now your wet heat was pressed against his flexing thigh, begging for more contact. Your legs were spread for Christ’s sake and you hadn’t even taken one article of clothing off.  
    “You always take it so well, so fantastic to it huh my good girl?” Michael was dragging his right hand down to your thigh, squeezing and traveling back up. Past your stomach, your breasts, your shoulders. His lip drawn back between his teeth, secure. His brows low and framing his wildly determined eyes.   
    Fingers wrapped around your throat and both hands were on your pulse point. “You need it.” It was a fact, stated in a gruff voice with an edge digging into your pleading slickness.   
    “Y-yes,” you manage and get onto your tippy toes to get to his lips. Just had to get those lips.   
"Uh uh, no sweets. Not until I say so," Michael clucks his tongue, eyebrow piercing catching a sparkle of light from the moonlight through the blinds.   
And Michael’s hands were always so fucking capable. Could swirl the bath water around you to give you radiating warmth and comfort. Would play the strings fast or slow with practiced pressure and agility. Could tap your clit and curve just so inside of you to make you hear melodies you’d never heard until he whispered the lyrics into your ear.   
Michael was like a symphony and a jukebox filled with only the songs you simply could not skip over. A classic.   
    “And I say so….now.” Michael finished his muttering and has you spun around and bent over the dining table in a blink of your dark lashes. “Ah,” you gasp as your jeans are yanked down to your ankles. Your thong leaving a blank canvas for your boyfriend. “Well well…..well,” Mikey is smiling, you hear it loud and clear through the wood your ear is pressed to.   
    “How many, Ellie?” He asked.  
Oh fuck. You were going to cum more than once tonight because Michael was undoing his belt right against your bare ass. You were going to choose the number because Michael’s soft palms stroked up your ass and across the spans of your back, lifting the fabric of your shirt.   
    “I….fucking hell Michael,”  
"Daddy." His correction is breathy, you feel his lips at the crease of your left ass cheek.  
"Daddy….I…" You lick your lips and know that you’re up to it.  
"Four…I can do four…"  
Michael chuckles and leaves a soaking wet kiss to your ass.   
"Six it is."  
The smack rings like a fucking bell throughout the room. The apartment the amphitheater to the fun that was to come tonight. 

***  
      
“Ah! F-fuck! Daddy! Harder! Please!” Your cries bleated into the thick air in the living room as Michael’s hand came down onto your ass with more power.   
"Forty," Michael said in his gritty tone. Forty spanks. Two years with this boy.   
It was over but not. The sizzling light rose color of your ass emanated a heat that dripped into your pussy. Michael’s musician fingers rubbed until it felt like you had to either grind onto the table or push back into his cock. It was hard and blurting out precum from the fat tip, so you chose the latter.   
"Oh, daddy…I need it. Need it so bad," you were groaning as if you had just finished a marathon. Maybe you had. The adrenaline was pumping to your whole body and every brain cell only sputtered out your man’s name. Michael was your daddy and nobody could ever replace him. You needed him to know that.   
    “I…you’re so fucking good Michael,” you start to crawl up from your laying position on the table. Armpits no longer parallel to it, arms now bent. On your elbows is how Michael wanted to keep you however.   
    “No, no baby. I know. But this is daddy’s call, right gorgeous?” His hands are on your hips, keeping you in place. But you would never disobey him, not when he was giving you all this.   
    “Now, remember what I said, Elle?” Michael’s question is almost lost from your ears as the ripping of foil and stretching rubber sounds along with it. The magnum wrapper falls to the floor in your bird’s eye view. You bite your tongue down slowly, itching for it. Itched so bad.   
    “Let them now….let them all know how amazing your daddy makes you feel, okay kitten?” Michael’s hard, curved cock is in his hand and slapping against your ass. Each cheek gets a tap and a few smacks from it. From him. Your teeth reach all the way to your chin, the squeak you make completely wrecked.   
    “Yes, daddy.”  
    And when Michael braces one hand onto your lower back, the other holding your hand, fingers laced…he sinks in. Sinks in slow and stuttering at first, the hot rub of it. Goes in deeper and deeper at a pace much like the crackling of an old mixtape first set to play. It’s like no rewinding once the needle scratches the black of the vinyl. It’s the bass dropping and your soul electrifying. You’re alive. The screams and shouts that almost make words crack into the air and infect it in the most divine way. Freezing like chemicals to the system before exploding into complete and utter chaos.   
    And his long stiff cock gets the itch for you, gets it so good. The precum singing into the condom and feeling hot through it. So hot.   
Michael’s pace is like a curtain in the early Spring breeze, floating. But deep, so fucking deliciously deep. The drums are pounded and your ass is shaking as he goes faster and harder. Rougher. His shirt is tossed across the room and your hair is gathered into a tight ponytail.   
His breathing is resounding through the acoustics in your chest. His moans beating as your heart does below your sternum. The tissues and tendons that make you up absorbing the shock of his hisses of pleasure. Reverberating to start a chain of echoes. They sound like the trickling of chimes to the force of violins.   
"Fuck!" Michael groans and tugs your hair harder, drawing your face up, neck bared. The other is at your ass, spanking you for the forty-first time that night. The sting is the most euphoric you’ve ever felt.   
"Daddy! Daddy I’m going to cum!" you shout back to him, voice breaking and drawing up. Asking.   
"It’s okay, sweetheart. Cum on my cock baby girl."  
The first one comes like a tidal wave, pushing you over and twisting you around. And you are in fact twisted around by Michael’s arms not a second after you’ve cum right onto his cock.   
    “That’s one,” he notes as he swivels you to face him, lifting you up and spreading you down to take his cock again. “Shit!” You moan and clamp your eyes shut, hands white knuckling the table. He slams in and out and you’re seeing notes to songs you’re making up now. Not really understanding what you’re thinking besides fuck me fuck me fuck me.   
Michael rolls his hips with such fucking talent and has you in tears, cumming against the wet sliding rubber for a second time.   
"Two."  
"Fuck, daddy…" you pant, throwing your feeble arms over his shoulders and leaning into him completely. You know your daddy has you.  
    “Doing so good my lovely girl, fuck you’re good for me,” Michael gasps as his tip hit the hilt of you, right at the pit of your stomach, you can feel him. He pulls out and slaps his dick against your clit, causing you to spasm and spit riddles into his neck. He just chuckles again and thrusts back in. Now you’re walked back to the center of the sitting area in the apartment, Michael supporting you all on his own, hands spreading your cheeks and pussy to take more of him. To connect your bodies to the highest level he can achieve.   
He can have it all.   
    And you squirm in his arms as the third orgasm hits. Then the fourth when he rubs it out of you, stilling you on his cock. So wet. It’s 4-0 you and Michael.   
"Daddy, it’s you…you gotta cum for me. Cum for your girl…" You somehow find the strength to plead, voice pathetic and eyes blissed out.   
"I will, don’t worry my love. I will at your sixth," a wicked look is in his emerald eyes and slanted grin.   
He wasn’t kidding when he said six. You knew that, you did. And making that joke about your age difference may have been the best thing you’d ever done.  
***  
There was no denying that your neighbors could hear your screams. Could hear the couch almost toppling over as you rode Michael with such eagerness your knees were turning pink. No denying the bangs on the walls and disgruntled shouts of “Keep it down!” and “It’s too late for this!”  
    The songs were not over. Not yet. You had more notes to hit and belt out as the veins of your boyfriend’s thick cock throbbed against your walls. More harmonies to make with Michael. The tipping point of the song you were singing was approaching quickly.  
The fifth was harder than the last, keeping the pattern consistent.   
"Good girl, such a fucking good girl, you know that? I love my good girl," Michael said with a laugh of disbelief at just how much he adored you. The sincerity carried like notes on the treble clef and into your heart. He meant the whole world to you and he saw the universe in your half mast eyes.   
And Michael was close, let you know with the nudge of his nose to your cheek and jawline. Dragging it across to your lips and licking into your moaning mouth with such sweet fervor. Your eyes widened and your hands grabbed at his chest in uncontrolled movements. He leaned his neck back to gaze at his girl and smirked while moaning your name.   
"Daddy’s gonna fucking cum, baby," he swallowed and closed his eyes as you sat right down hard on his cock, stopped bouncing and just rubbed. So close, you swiveled your hips in figure eights and pushed down on his chest, his hands on your waist.   
    A chord struck, a string snapped, and your sixth was crashing through the frets. Michael’s orgasm ripped through him and he screamed along with you. His a “Baby girl!” to your “Daddy!” The harmony wafting through your ears like a riff of the piano.   
    Michael slows down and you reduce the sporadic twitches of your hips to gently clench around him. He cums until there is nothing left. All songs sung, all strings plucked. Your throat ruined and his chest a smattering of red and pink dynamics. The sweetness of how you two played so soothing. The severity just right to scratch the itch.   
    And you two sit still like that for a few minutes, Michael still deep within you. Just breathe. Catching breath and gathering up fresh energy to make it to the shower and then to bed.

***

"I love you, I’ll see you tonight for pasta night, kay baby?" You smiled at Michael as you swiped your keys off the kitchen counter.  
"Of course babe, I’ll be here stirring the sauce, reading Faulkner," Mikey says with a wide, toothy grin before leaning in to give you a kiss.   
The morning after, you going to your Sound Manager job at the music studio miles and miles from the bar where you met the love of your life. Mikey had two classes today at the University and was making dinner tonight.   
"Good boy, I love you…" You smack a kiss to his lips, swollen from the night before.   
"Be a good girl at work!" He calls out to you over the stove, making some oatmeal. You stumbled a bit in your black Mary Janes, feeling the ache down low and the thrill up your thighs. You are his good girl, always.  
    And as you get your bearings back, adjusting the black pencil skirt and feeling Michael’s effects in your panties, the scratch of the vinyl sounds.  
    “Do you remember? The 21st night of September?” Earth Wind and Fire croons throughout your apartment. Your heart lifts to the clouds and your head whips back to see him. He’s dancing, moving his hips from side to side as he stirs; he’s singing along with just as much joy as that night a year ago in the bar.  
Michael peeks over his shoulder at you in the doorway, singing to you and blowing you a kiss. Winks, and waves.   
You have to laugh and blush with a crazy, untouchable happiness in your heart.   
"Never was a cloudy day!" You lift your hands and sing along with him as you back out of the door, bending at the knees to catch your breath. You’re just laughing so hard.   
That day is tiring but good and you feel Michael all throughout. One melody, one lyric, one intoning truth remains with you because you met him at that shitty night job. Recalling it so clear.  
"Remember how we knew love was here to stay."  
And yeah…that was a really fucking good song.


End file.
